Firestorm
by Eizechial
Summary: A struggling prince tries to maintain order. Torn between civil war and personal resentment, Zuko attempts to lead a revolution against those that betrayed his people. Along the way, a life-changing meeting with a water healer sets him on his destiny.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Avatar the Last Airbender. So there, end of story.

**Author's Note:** I've lost a lot of inspiration for my most recent (and only other) fanfic, Revelations. It really wasn't shaping out how I imagined it at all. I apologize to those who liked it, but as for now, it is going to be on a temporary hiatus. It's not dead, just . . . no more updates in the near future. For now, my urges lie in this new idea I've been mapping out. It was inspired by a varying amount of sources, including but not limited to: Mulan, Assassin's Creed, The Last Samurai, and of course, Avatar: The Last Airbender. Hopefully, I can nail this beginning, and keep you all enticed. Here it goes . . .

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p>Fire is the infinite element in its own right. As a child of Agni himself, a fire bender is blessed with such limitlessness, such raw power. At times the flame burns low, in a resting steep of embers and cinders. At times the flames grow, rising into an unquenchable storm of light and heat. Fire is powerful and dangerous and <em>alive<em>.

For nearly an entire century, the people of the other elements have learned to never count a fire bender out of a battle. What we may lack in numbers, we make up in valor, ingenuity, and tenaciousness. Never give up without a fight. This is the code I was raised with, nourished with. To surrender is to admit victory cannot be achieved, and to allow oneself to even think such weak thoughts brings an utmost dishonor to the individual. And without one's honor, life expectancy drops. Swiftly.

The Great War began long, long ago. One hundred years, to be exact. It was a battle between my ancestors and the rest of the world. The Fire Nation against the combined might of the Water Tribes, the Air Nomads, the Earth Kingdoms; one would think that we should have been completely dismantled, crushed, and beaten senselessly back into obscurity. But we were not.

For we had one thing the other elemental entities didn't: Unity.

Starting before the beginning of Fire Lord Sozin's reign, before the first Fire Lord in fact, we were much like the same of our neighbors. We were split, divided, and unwhole. We were a suit of armor linked together with the most fragile of rings, a series of multiple divisions in a supposed cohesive nation. My long-dead ancestors had been part of our long and unforgettable past. They had been part of the Fire Clans.

And now, I fear I may be treading down the same path.

The clans were led by various leaders, each with their own ambitions and desires. Skirmishes constantly occurred during the age of the Fire Clans, as powerful lords battled for dominance over their territories. Civil war ran rampant, the lower classes were left starved and deprived, and private armies ravaged the landscape. The truth is written in blood, in the very soil we live upon. A citizen only has to walk along the desecrated remains of a once crimson spattered battleground to _feel_ that gruesome coppery liquid deep beneath their feet. The earth can only drink so much before its maw is slaked.

It was an era of eradication and darkness for my nation during those bleak times. Though it may sound rash and obtuse, I am actually somewhat thankful for what Fire Lord Sozin did, starting the Great War. From an emotionless and completely strategic standpoint, he did the greatest thing for the people of the Fire Nation, for my people. He united them. It cost us animosity between the rest of the world, but the penalty did its law justice. Throughout most of the next century, people of the Fire Nation thrived.

But that was the past. Once our enemies realized that they outnumbered us ten-to-one by forming alliances with one another, our entire infrastructure of warfare came crashing down in a blazing heap of annihilation. By the end of the Great War, we were fighting a three front battle. A losing battle. Our numbers had spread too thin and our resources had dwindled down to next-to-nothing. We didn't stand a chance.

The final crippling blow came during the reign of my grandfather, Fire Lord Azulon. Born into the air nomads and trained covertly from the outside world, a young Avatar named Aang led a direct aerial assault to our capital. My people were struck down with the force of an untamed hurricane. The peace treaties were signed a week after the incident, and relative stillness enticed the world for the next thirty years. Fire Lord Azulon, always a strategist, managed to keep his position secured by blocking off and isolating our nation from the rest of the world. In doing this, he retained the Fire Nation's traditions and kept his place upon the throne. Grandfather died mysteriously in his sleep, seven years ago. I was nine years old when I attended my first Royal Funeral.

Though our early history may sound dreadful, it is the past decade that causes me the most concern. My father, Fire Lord Ozai, took the mantle as supreme ruler with zeal and hungry ambition. The reasons unknown to me at the time, he issued edicts that re-opened trade routes and ports back with the other nations. Being a nation that was incredibly self-sufficient for nigh on a quarter-century, we managed to glean new revelations of the world we left behind. However, it seemed we still managed to remain a vague mystery to the rest of our "allies".

For the first few years of his monarchy, Fire Lord Ozai managed to keep up his façade of reliving the harmony between each of the four nations. But as I grew older, I began to learn of the real reasons behind my father's decisions. He did not want peace with our age-old rivals. He wanted something far from it. Fire Lord Ozai had opened up our trade networks to gain the aid of mercenary armies, rebels attempting to overthrow Earth Kingdom monarchs. His plan was to conquer the world again once more, to extend an empire, all in the name of the Fire Nation.

In an inexplicable display of mastery over politics, my father managed to conscript an entire army of nearly three-hundred thousand strong, all within the course of four years. He then set a campaign upon the Earth Kingdom, bent on taking over the key strongholds of Ba Sing Se and Omashu respectively. The three-hundred thousand combined troops of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom revolutionaries began to amass themselves in strategic locations across the continent, waiting for my sire's order.

Desperately attempting to reconcile with my father's madness, I spoke to him in a war meeting, begging, pleading him to reconsider his verdict. Even at the mere age of thirteen, I knew that an extensive amount of unnecessary death would be the only way to consummate victory. Unnecessary and implausible, for mercenaries tend to fight only for those who carry a heavier sack of gold; they were not loyal, like the honorable clan-mates before our time.

And so I told him as such. I, with my nation's best interest at heart, attempted to stand up against the god of our nation, the supreme ruler, my father. I told him that only those who truly belong to our homeland, our country, could be trusted. That the Earth Kingdom rebels would prey upon us as soon as we "helped" overthrow their monarchy. That we would all suffer, if he could not contain the vastness of the mighty earth legions. That our people would _die_.

Now, three years later, I still bear his anger. It resides as the scar slapped with fire across the side of my face, the mark of my treason. It remains as my unforgivable dishonor.

Yet, I no longer care for the "honor" in which my father stripped of me. It is tainted and meaningless, for his sense of "honor" did nothing to protect my people. Three years in exile, I waited for the moment, the moment everything would blow up in our faces . . . And I saw it unfold. And I saw it happen. I knew that we would be attacked, but the fool, the damn fool . . . he never saw it coming.

The assassin's blade made sure of it.

I am Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai and Lady Ursa; heir to the throne of a divided and crumbling nation at war with itself. I am the last remaining survivor of the immediate Royal Family, a once exiled and forgotten prince.

I am the murderer of my own father. I am the darkness in the night, the shining light of dawn and the protector of my nation. I am the bringer of righteous punishment and the wielder of dragon's fire. I am a lone warrior amidst the political turmoil of the reemerging Fire Clans, seeking out a way to end the suffering of my people by uniting them once more.

I am Zuko, and this . . . this is just the beginning.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So . . . prologue. Let me know what you guys think. Once I figure out how the poll's thing(s) work, I'll set up one for a "would you rather" sort of deal. Which fic sounds more appealing? Revelations, or Firestorm? You guys decide, and I'll focus my attentions more so on one than the other.

Reviews are, as always, appreciated.


	2. Wounds that Run Deeper than Blood

**Disclaimer: **I hold no ties with Avatar: The Last Airbender. This work of fiction was created for, and only for, the sole purpose of entertainment. No profits were obtained from the makings of this story. Credits go out to Nickelodeon, Michael DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko respectively.

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. . .

**Summary: **A struggling prince tries to maintain order. Torn between civil war and personal resentment, Zuko attempts to lead a revolution against those that betrayed his people. Along the way, a life-changing meeting with a water healer sets him on his destiny.

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**. . .**

"A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has conquered itself from within." ~Ariel Durant

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><p><strong>Chapter I– Wounds That Run Deeper Than Blood<strong>

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><p>Rain pattered on the cobblestones, sluicing through the dismal and grey darkness. Its falling covetousness drowned out the forms of elegantly slanting rooftops, its perturbed rhythm danced across the ground in a torrent of murkiness, cleansing the streets with a deep fog. A particularly broken piece of cobblestone-road withheld a small puddle of condensed water, retaining it in a small and shallow bowl of stillness, only agitated by the falling droplets that managed to make its way past the angled roof-like niche of its housing.<p>

A leather boot splashed its way lithely in the puddle, before dashing off with its owner in a mad race. Two heartbeats later, a thundering troop of heavier footsteps followed in hot pursuit of the first.

The little pool of water rippled in a tense few waves, before slowly settling back into its quiet, peaceful pulse.

From the grey clouds above, lighting roared, falling through the air like a jagged spear. Such screeching blue matter lit the landscape for the sparsest of seconds, illuminating a figure clothed entirely in black sprinting away from eight armored soldiers. Their frantic and scraping footsteps were masked over the downpour.

The runner bolted around a corner of a house, down into another alleyway. The slap of his boots on the wet street brought up small splashes in his wake, a feeble noise compared to the thrum of thunder above. Over the fleeing man's right shoulder, a simple scabbard filled with a pair of Dao swords clinked with every hastened stride he took, with every pump of his arms. The harsh breathing of his pursuers rasped and mingled with the hammering of the rainstorm, far to close in his ears for comfort. He chanced a glance backwards.

Lighting crackled against the sky once more, and through his demonic and azure-colored mask with grinning fangs, Zuko saw one of his lead trailers stumble in shock.

"It's the Blue Spirit! Get him!"

Zuko dashed around the edge of the backstreet, veering off out into the open. Only mere meters ahead, a long and wide ascending set of stairs came into his sight. Having once lived in this city three years ago, the banished prince-turned-rogue's memory reminded him that he still had a long stretch ahead of him. If he managed to make it up the stairs without being caught, he had a lengthy trek down the muddy entrance ramp –latticed with watchtowers and garrisoned with more guards– before reaching Harbor City, where his safe house was located. Hypothetically speaking, if he made it that far, there was a chance Zuko could escape. Realistically speaking, that hypothetical chance was dwindling down rapidly.

Barely onto the tenth step, his heart plummeted when he saw more soldiers at the top of his escape route. From behind, the small entourage of guards chased him up the stairs, hoping to converge with the guards above. _Shit!_ he thought wildly. They were going to trap him on both sides in a pincer movement. Thinking quickly, he came up with a split-second decision. Zuko spun back around to face his pursuers, one hand unsheathing his Dao swords in a simultaneous swing.

The leading chaser didn't even see the blow coming. Sharp steel bit into the iron scales of the man's armor, sliding past almost effortlessly. His body toppled to the ground; first one half, then the other. Taking advantage of his opponents' stunned shock, Zuko pressed the attack, hoping to dispatch of this group before he became helplessly outnumbered. With an intricate dance of footwork, the young assassin spun himself into a whirling form of steel, striking out at his foes. He managed to disarm another man and kick him down the stairs before the rest of the chasing party reacted.

Parrying a multitude of frantic slashes and ruby flames, he twisted to the side, sidestepping a punch laced with fire. Without a moment's hesitation, Zuko brought down one of his weapons upon the arm intended to maim him. An earsplitting shriek reverberated from the injured guard as he had a single moment to see his mangled arm upon the rouge spattered ground, before a second strike from the Blue Spirit snuffed him out of his misery.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Zuko attacked from all angles, never once slowing down. The style was effective, aggressive, and it managed to break the root of all of his attackers. Bloodlust seemed to have clouded his vision. All he could see was red.

For almost an eternity, only a handful of things registered within Zuko's mind: One, the blood. The gory, crimson staining fluid seeped onto the steps like an endless deluge of red waterfalls. And it was all because of him. Two, the rain. Its endless patter flowed and washed away the incriminating scarlet, soaking into his clothes, his hair. It was almost as if the water wanted to rinse him of his dark deeds. And finally, that-

A sharp slice of silver across his left bicep, then his chest, interrupted his thoughts and caused him to hiss in pain. Now he was attacking on pure instinct and muscle-memory. With a snarl, he lunged forward in a deadly dance of death. The final soldier fell in a heavy heap of metal.

It took him a moment to realize there were no more oncoming attacks from the guards. His breath shook and his chest felt constricted. His arms felt numb, so numb. Like the nerves in his limbs had been shocked and strained into lethargy. Zuko swayed slightly on the spot, looking through vacant eyes up at the last remaining steps to the top. Wearily, he began the long and painful ascension, sword-blades dragging on the rocky stairs.

His dark musing began again. And it was then, finally, it hit him. That registered self-guilt of what he had committed. Patricide, treason against his nation, murder. They all fell under the same category. He had killed. For the first time in his life, Zuko had taken a life –had taken multiple lives.

He managed to make it up to the top before his swords clattered to the ground and the Blue Spirit fell to his knees, shoving off his mask. Behind him lay the corpses of all the guards he had slain. None of the bodies moved. His lips quivered, his breath hitched. And then, his stomach did a flip-flop; before he knew it, Zuko was on all fours, retching.

The rain managed to conceal the bitter tears leaking out of his unscarred eye, but did nothing to cover the stench of vile human upheaval.

Again and again, the banished prince vomited, until there was nothing left in his stomach. Dry pants soon encompassed his prior retching, shaking him while the acrid heaves dissipated all-together. When he was finally able to stand up, Zuko could still taste bile on his tongue and feel its acidic collateral lodged in his throat. His shoulders shuddered.

"I'm sorry." He whispered softly to the lifeless guards, "I'm so sorry."

The prince reached down and retrieved his Dao swords, sheathing them into their scabbard on his back. He then picked up his abandoned mask, and with trembling fingers, retied it onto his face. Without a backwards, Zuko took off at a run down the entrance ramp, trying to rid himself of the soul-searing shame stuck heavily in his conscience.

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. . .

Zuko awoke the next day to the pungent smell of coal fumes and fresh-caught fish. Pale sunlight streamed down from a dingy and battered window while sea gulls cawed shrilly overhead. Blinking open his eyes, Zuko sat up from his cot, threw on a hooded cloak, and slowly made his way out of the decrepit wooden shack he called home.

The streets were still muddy from last night's storm as the banished prince made his way out the door. Hanging above him, catwalks crisscrossed and dangled precariously from rooftop-to-rooftop. To a stranger of Harbor City, such teetering little bridges seemed nothing short of a safety hazard. But for a local dweller, it was the quickest, driest way to reach one's given destination.

Without a second thought on the matter, Zuko jumped onto a stack of crates nearby, scampering up one, two, three of them, before launching himself up to catch the edge of a second-level window. Fingers digging into the sill firmly, he planted both of his feet onto the wall and shoved off, releasing his grip. A quick tuck and roll later and he was back onto his feet, standing on the flats of a neighboring rooftop.

In well practiced ease the teen jumped from one rooftop to another, sometimes using the footbridges, other times forgoing them completely to leap lithely onwards. Barely five minutes had gone by until Zuko's quick way of travel brought him to the leg of his journey: a disheveled looking tavern named _The Jasmine Dragon_.

He landed heavily on ground, the force of gravity buckling him down into a crouch. People walking by gave no notice of the "unordinary" behavior. It happened all the time. Dusting himself off, the banished prince walked through the open doorway of the inn.

He took a stool by the counter, taking a few copper pieces from his money pouch and tossing it carelessly onto the countertop. "Firewhiskey," he said to the barman.

The barman, a portly elder with a grizzled grey beard and a simple topknot, peered skeptically at him, trying to gauge his age from beneath the black hood he wore. "Aren't you a little young to be drinking Firewhiskey, dear boy?" he asked.

Zuko snorted. "Business is business. What's it to you?"

"I suppose I cannot argue with that logic," said the bartender. His voice chuckled jovially, "Though, I do warn you, it's awful strong. Me, I would much rather prefer a nice steaming cup of jasmine tea!"

Zuko ignored the old man's antics. He watched quietly as the barman poured a thick dark amber liquid into a small wooden cup. As soon as his drink was within reach, Zuko tipped the contents down in single shot. The burning sensation in his throat left him coughing and slightly red in the face. _Damn! _He swallowed. _That stuff is toxic. _

The barman laughed quietly once more. "Another?" He asked.

Grimacing, Zuko nodded.

As his cup was filled up once more, the prince heard the older man begin talking again. "You know, this old inn brings in a lot of different customers. And a lot of them think that if they can drink their difficulties away, they won't ever have to worry about them anymore. It is a bit sad, I must say. Those poor souls have just a moment of bliss, before reality wakes them back up and they realize they're troubles never really left." The bartender peeked over at Zuko, amber eyes filled with aged wisdom and perception.

"What is it that troubles you, young man?"

He remained silent for a while, staring at the whisky, watching it lap from one side of the cup to the other. Internally, he debated the merits of talking with this stranger who seemed interested in him. Maybe it was the familiarity. Maybe it was the way the old man seemed so down to earth. Either way, Zuko found himself talking.

"My father died," he said quietly.

"Ahh . . . it is always a great sorrow to hear of a family members department from this world. Though, if you remember how the proverb goes–" the bartender began.

"He died because of me." Zuko interrupted, "my father died because of what I did . . . and what I didn't do." Sullenly, the banished prince returned to his drink, slapping down another shot.

Bushy grey eyebrows rose upwards. At loss for words, the barman simply waited for the cup, filling it up once more and handing it back to his quiet companion. "I am sorry," he said.

Zuko didn't speak.

Suddenly at the door, a trio of official looking soldiers appeared, thoroughly repulsed by all the mud on their feet. Zuko assessed them from the corner of his good eye._ Light armor. Daggers in their belts. No helmets. Definitely peacekeepers._

Carelessly, they stomped toward the counter, shaking off excess debris and making the barman wince with each squelching step they took. One held an unraveled scroll in his hands, depicting a facial-shot of Fire Lord Ozai. The bartender squinted, trying to make out the black glyphs staining the parchment.

Nearby, Zuko sat rigidly in his stool.

"Three cups of your finest wine," one said.

Attempting to keep tabs on more potential customers, the old man rambled on good naturedly. "Oh! Well, I have a few different choices: there are the famous red wines in stock, grown straight from some of the best gardens here in the Fire Nation, and there are some different hybrid wines, with some of the recipes being my very own! Ah, and there's also–"

"Just shut your mouth and bring us something to drink, old man." Another snapped. "We're on a time crunch right now. If we don't get back to the capitol, it'll be your ass that pays."

Zuko watched the barman chuckle, unperturbed. "Of course, of course. My sincerest apologizes. Though . . . if you don't mind me asking," the man began fetching three cups and pouring red liquid out of a cask nearby. He handed out the drinks, and then pointed off-handedly to the scroll, "What exactly are you doing with that poster?"

Seemingly appeased that their liquor was finally available, the snappish officer, along with his fellow comrades, took a swig of their drinks. One smacked his lips appreciatively before pushing the parchment towards barman.

"Take a look for yourself," he said.

The hooded prince stared at the incredulous face of the bartender, as his aged eyes quickly deciphered the glyphs of Fire Nation manuscript. Shock latticed his features.

"Y– you mean to say that– that the Fire Lord is . . ."

"Deader than a doornail? No longer with the living? Yep, that's exactly what it says." Peacekeeper one said. "We just posted a few of these this morning, orders from some tight-ass admiral. Got more rounds to do back near some of the other outskirt cities. The capitol's already heard of the news, and let me tell you, it is spreading like wildfire." He took another drink of his wine. "The way I see it, we're going to have a lot of civil unrest on our hands very, very soon."

"How did my– how did the Fire Lord die?" The barman asked in a hushed tone. Immediately, Zuko's already high strung interest in the conversation piqued. Against his better instincts, he discreetly leaned in closer.

"No one really knows. Some say it was the Blue Spirit who killed him. Others think it might have been a planned hit from one of his political enemy. Either way, the morning retinue found him dead, along with nearly twenty other guards. Whoever did it sure knew how to kill." The man knocked back the rest of his wine.

"Damn honorless bastards who did it ought to be strung up, drawn and quartered, if you ask me. Hell, I'd like to see a recap of the Fire Lord's infamous Agni Kai. Burn all their faces just like that little bitch of a son he had. That'd teach 'em a less–"

Somehow, Zuko's grip had managed to split his cup, cracks flowing along its edges. The dribbling essence of whisky, accompanied by the sparks flitting in between his fingertips, proved a lethal combination. Fire spurted up from the veins and splits, catching the attention of the conversationalists.

"Looks like he doesn't agree with you, Poon," the third man remarked snidely. "What's the matter boy? Do you think that the Fire Lord wasn't justified when he taught his son a lesson?"

"I do not think fighting a child can ever be justified." Zuko seethed.

"Ha! Just goes to show what you know, you dirty peasant. Maybe if your father taught you some respect, you'd have a respectable job and you wouldn't be in this hell-hole for the rest of your insignificant little life–"

Simmering silently, Zuko's jaw clenched with the effort of not rising to the taunting soldier's bait. All the while, the elderly barman had remained mysteriously silent in his spot behind the counter.

"–Just think! Maybe mama wouldn't have to be a whore for a living, then, huh? Tch, I bet that would–"

_Screw being silent._ Zuko's fist knocked the man out cold. "Don't _ever _talk about my mother like that." His voice was murder.

"Hey!" Two pairs of daggers were drawn out quickly from their owners' belts. "Striking an officer is a criminal offence! You're going to the– AH!"

With lightning speed, the prince leapt onto the nearby peacekeeper and both of them toppled to the ground, their drinks and stools crashing with them. Zuko scrabbled on top of the man, squeezing his knees together to prevent the officer from overturning him.

The man slashed upward with his dagger, aiming for Zuko's unprotected stomach. Quickly, the hooded prince blocked the blow with his left forearm, catching the peacekeeper's wrist before he could deliver the blow. Zuko drew his other hand back and smashed his fist into the man's face; once, then twice, both in rapid succession. The hits caused the man to drop his blade in a feeble attempt to cover up. Before the disorientated official could regain his bearings, Zuko unleashed a combination of hook shots to the sides of each temple. Left, right, left, right.

The man's entire body slackened as his eyes rolled upwards.

Now the peacekeeper called Poon was upon the prince. Before he could duck, Zuko felt a searing cut clip him along the edge of his neck. He flipped back off the unconscious body, hissing in pain. As he rolled, his hood fell down.

Recognition danced across Peacekeeper Poon's features as he took in the violet scar beneath the long black bangs. His mouth fell open–

–and Zuko promptly landed a spinning back kick to Poon's jaw, knocking him out cold. Grasping the side of his neck, he quickly threw on his hood before the old barman, who had a look of utter shock on his face, could see the scar. It appeared that he was not swift enough. Faster than the wind, Zuko fled the bar and darted out off into the street. His expression unchanging, the bartender seemed completely stupefied.

"Nephew?" he whispered.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Blood trickled in an endless diminutive stream between Zuko's fingertips. The dagger had just barely nicked his jugular vein, but it seemed that barely mattered little. The world was swimming around him. It was really a feat that he was still alive, given the significance of where he had been struck.

Nearly four minutes had passed by since his incident in the bar. Four measly, tiny, long, and painfully enduring minutes.

He stumbled across the doorstep of the little household, the one with the sign his barely coherent mind read as _"Apothecary"_ and knocked heavily on its door. Seeing black spots swim across his vision, the prince acquiesced to his body's need to be supported on something other than his feet. His form slumped onto the door, back leaning on it like a crutch, causing most of his weight to shift from his legs to the un-opening fixture.

Of course, that was when said thing decided to open. Zuko fell flat onto his back in an undignified heap. He groaned pathetically.

The last thing he saw was a pair of brilliant, wide sapphire eyes staring down at him with concern.

. . .

. . .

Then the darkness overtook him.

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><p><strong>AN: **Of course Zuko won't die . . . yet. *dodges projectiles*. Haha. Sorry for the long wait, though. I wanted to hammer this out perfectly –it being the first chapter and all (Prologue not included)–. This story is going to have a lot of twists in it, or at least, that's my plan. Hopefully, those of you reading it will be happily enticed each chapter: I want to keep it exciting!

Special thanks to the following:

–TrixTR314

–PastaSentient

–KJun (and)

–Mallyce

For being the first (awesome!) reviewers! Special, special thanks to TrixTR314 for all the help she has given me –about you know what! – .

See you all in Chapter II.


	3. Memories of Present

**Disclaimer: **I hold no ties with Avatar: The Last Airbender. This work of fiction was created for, and only for, the sole purpose of entertainment. No profits were obtained from the makings of this story. Credits go out to Nickelodeon, Michael DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko respectively.

. . .

. . .

**Summary: **A struggling prince tries to maintain order. Torn between civil war and personal resentment, Zuko attempts to lead a revolution against those that betrayed his people. Along the way, a life-changing meeting with a water healer sets him on his destiny.

. . .

. . .

**Warning: **Contains spoilers and underlying hints/plot themes related to The Legend of Korra. If you have not watched the first two episodes, you can here at: _dubhappy(dot)com/the-legend-of-korra-episode-1/ _AND _dubhappy(dot)com/the__-legend-of-korra-episode-2/__._

Note that these episodes can also be viewed at the nickelodeon website: nick(dot)com. I personally would recommend watching them there, but it doesn't matter overly much.

. . .

. . .

". . .You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream . . ."

~Edgar Allen Poe

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><p><strong>Chapter II– Memories of Present<strong>

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><p>"Come on, wake up." A feminine voice –one that might have been sweet if it didn't sound so cold, roused him harshly into reality. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Weakly, he propped himself up into a sitting position resting on the edges of his forearms. Murky blackness latticed with dark shapes dominated much of his flickering vision.<p>

"We don't have much time, you know." The voice stated matter of factly. Turning towards the noise, he dimly made out a blurry figure dressed in blue robes.

"Time for what? And who the hell are you?" he asked. He shook his head in an effort to clear the wavering images around him into some coherent form. Quickly, he cringed and clasped his hands to the sides of his temples. _Fuck that hurts!_ he thought.

"Time to escape," the woman said, ignoring his other query. Obviously sensing that the dazed man had no idea what was going on, she continued. "The rebels are likely realizing that their security systems aren't operating properly and here pretty soon, everything's going to be chaotic and a mess. I'd really rather have ourselves back at our safe-house before anything else goes wrong. We didn't come all this way just to die trying to get you out of here."

". . . What?"

"Oh, for the love of La! Quit asking questions and hurry up!"

Muddled as his senses were, he managed to roll out of his –_bed?_ – at the sound of the woman's perturbed tone. Upon a second glance, the object he appeared to have been lying on looked like it had a human body indentation in its twisting and gnarled metal confines; almost like a formed cast. Coils of wires wrapped around the odd device. Turning back around, he slowly walked his way over to the mysterious woman and fixed her with a level stare. The dull click of her boots against the ground and her hands situated against her hips showed obvious signs of annoyance.

"I really don't know what's going on." The firebender said. He drew back his shoulders and raised himself to his full height, towering over his shorter female counterpart. In a dogged step, he closed the distance between them and had invaded her personal space. Her foot-tapping stopped as she took a half step back, and he had to resist the urge to smirk at how well his simple intimidation tactic had worked. "So I would appreciate it if you start giving me some answers. Let's s try your name first, for starters."

"My name is none of your concern," she said. She checked an odd looking bracelet on her wrist. "We need to go. Now."

"I'm not leaving until I get an answer."

"I said no more questions!"

"I never asked." he deadpanned. It seemed the disorientation of whatever medicines he had been under was wearing off; no more stupid questions, just commands.

"You . . . are . . . – urgh!" The woman threw her hands up in the air helplessly. One hand fiddled with a brown lock of hair near her face, twisting the strand loosely with her fingertips. Worrying her bottom lip, she looked left once, then right, and then left again. Whatever she was looking for managed to elude her search however, as she turned with dark blue eyes to gaze up at him imploringly.

"It's Korra, alright?" she spoke hurriedly, "But now really isn't the time . . . there are some cameras that I couldn't reach that can still tape us here and I can't tell you everything with them watching. I promise when we're somewhere safer, I'll fill you in on all you need to know. Just trust me, okay?"

Mako folded his arms over his chest. "Why would I trust you?" he said. "I don't even know who–"

"Just shut up okay? Bolin is waiting for us in a black Satomobile, ten blocks down. Ask all you want then."

Something like suspicion clicked inside of Mako. "How do you know who my brother–"

"No more questions!" Korra demanded. She unfurled what looked like a map of the nearby city streets.

Mako muttered a few choice words under his breath, but complied nonetheless; this girl knew where his brother was. It was a step in the right –though wary– direction. Turning his head slightly, he discreetly glanced at his surroundings. It appeared as if they were stuck in an abandoned warehouse. Old cargo boxes stacked twenty feet high on top of one another dominated much of the floor space, creating a wall of wood. Up above the freights of timber, a metal railing guarded the second level –a rampart more than anything– of the building; as far as his eyes could see, it looked like the parapet ran at least a hundred yards long. Just a few fifteen feet above that, glass windows that formed the bottom edge of the rooftop let in dusky sunlight. The firebender concluded this would be their best escape route.

"Now I managed to take out most of the guards in the warehouse, but there are still a lot more outside. . ." Korra said. Mako sidled away quietly. "They're all guarding a six-block radius around here, so we are going to have to be really quick and sneaky if we don't want to raise the alarm. I think it would be best if we try and go out the way I just came through, that way– What are you doing?"

"Escaping," Mako said simply. He darted up the first few boxes, before taking a quick look around. The place looked like a maze from his vantage point. _Yep, definitely better to do this my way_, he thought. Mako looked back down at his eye-twitching companion. "You coming or not?" he threw back loftily.

Korra mumbled something about firebending jerks having no abilities to neither thank nor acknowledge people; disgruntled, she began her own climb up the cargo-cum-staircase.

Halfway up however, she returned to look at the strange bed Mako had been resting on. Flicking her wrist, she uncorked water from a pouch at her waist before dousing the metal contraption in it all and freezing it. Sparks hissed as the bed-like device made a noise akin to a car sputtering out.

Satisfied that her deed was done, she clawed her way all the way up to the top, perhaps not as gracefully, but mostly as effective as the firebender. Hands grasped rims of boxes, while booted feet scrabbled dangerously on precarious footholds.

Reaching out for the last edge of a box, Korra let out a surprised yelp when her trailing foot slipped off of its ledge. One hand barely managing to hold on, her body began to slide downwards and her legs flailed around instinctually, knocking over a smaller box. Mako's hand snatched the water tribe girl's outstretched arm, catching her before she could fall.

"Thanks," she breathed out.

"Be more careful." Mako said, hauling her back up, "I'm really amazed as to how you managed to sneak past anyone, with all the noise and commotion you're making."

Korra's face blanched at the ridicule. "Thanks . . ." she said again, this time sarcastically "You know, I didn't have to come and save your sorry butt. If it wasn't for me you'd still be passed out and in the Animus. You should be more appreciative."

"I'd appreciate it more if you'd be quiet."

"Oh!"

He glanced at the water tribe girl's parted mouth and indignant expression. "Careful, you'll catch flies that way," he murmured. Then with another bound, he lithely leapt to the guardrail of the second level, twisting over it with all the grace of a free runner raised on the streets. Paying no heed to his recently acquainted ally, Mako proceeded to scale the nearby wall with incredible speed and dexterity.

Korra huffed bitterly. Only after seeing the light-footed firebender make his way out of the rafters did she begin her much more _methodical _ascension of hanging onto guardrails and clutching slippery walls.

A few swears, moans, and curses later, she eventually made it out onto the rooftop. Mako stood there silently, looking out towards the heart of the city, deep in thought. The tattered ends of his grey robes billowed out against the wind almost like a cape.

Sensing her near him, he quirked an eyebrow at her curiously before returning his auric gaze back out towards the landscape.

"I suppose I should thank you for busting me out of there." He said, all traces of snideness gone from his voice. "I know I don't know you and you don't know me, but this means a lot. Really, it does. So thanks."

Korra's expression was one of surprise. But that expression changed quickly into a charming smile. Gleaming white pearls flashed brilliantly. "Well, that's what I'm here for. Helping people, that's what I do."

"But why help me?"

"Because your brother said you needed it."

"You . . . know my brother?" he asked pensively.

"I didn't until yesterday."

"Oh."

Silence descended upon the duo. Mako's brows furrowed in concentration, trying to think of a way to bridge some sort of understanding between him and his confusing new ally. Taking another glance at her from his peripherals, he noted her distinct water tribe clothing. He commented on the tribal band wrapped around her toned arm.

"I take it that you're from the Southern Water Tribe?" He turned to face her and gestured somewhat loosely at the band signifying her status as a southerner.

"Yeah," she said. "It was given to me by my teacher, as a gift."

"Ahh . . . so you're a waterbender. Nice."

Mako watched as she wrapped her arms smugly across her chest. Korra's eyes gleamed gently in the rising orange sunlight.

"I actually happen to be an earthbender . . ." she lilted. When Mako blinked owlishly, she continued, "Though I guess I could be called a waterbender. Or a firebender. It really depends on how you look at it."

Realization struck Mako upside the head. He rubbed a hand over his face. "You're the Avatar, and I'm an idiot."

"Both are true," Korra teased.

An alarm system suddenly screeched painfully loud in the air. It took the two a moment to realize that its deep wailing toll began from inside the warehouse directly below them. Its howling cadence seemed overwhelming, reverberating like a demon let loose from the bowels of the earth. Mako and Korra locked eyes.

_Shit!_

"Now you've done it!" Mako shouted, as he began sprinting towards the far-end of the building, preparing to hurdle off of it.

"What! I didn't do anything!" Korra yelled back. "And that's not even the right way towards the Satomobile!"

Mako skidded to a halt, did a short little hop step, and raced back towards the girl Avatar.

Somehow, the two managed to make it past all the guards without getting caught.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Mako!" thick arms crushed him in a platypus-bear hug as soon as he threw himself into the passenger side-seat of the idling Satomobile. From the corners of his eyes, he spotted Korra take a seat in the back and shut the door with hurried slam.

"Hey bro."

"I can't believe you're still alive! And not hurt either–" Bolin trailed off as he saw the mob of people charging towards their means of transportation. He broke the embrace and turned towards the fire bender, eyes wide as saucers.

"It would be in our best interests . . ." Mako said calmly, "if we get out of here. Quickly."

His brother continued to stare at him stupidly.

The firebender fluttered his eyes closed in annoyance. "The gas Bolin, the gas. Step on it!"

"Oh, right!" With that, Bolin shook himself from his stupor and smashed his foot on the pedal.

The car did not move.

"It's not going, it's not going. Arghh! Why isn't it going?" Mako heard his brother roar in frustration, slamming his foot repetitively on the pedal with each outburst. Looking out the window, Mako saw that the horde of anti-benders was closing in on them. Another ten seconds, the bender guessed, and they would be swarmed all together.

Equally frustrated and tense, but staying cool under fire, Mako opened his mouth to speak. From her spot in the backseat, Korra beat him to the punch.

"It's the clutch you idiot! Put it in gear!"

Like magic, the vehicle growled to life; and not a moment too soon. The trio zipped down the edge of the street as Bolin shifted the stick up to second, then third gear, watching edgily as their mob of followers began to disappear. Peering out of the side mirror, Mako furrowed his brows as the anti-bender gang dispersed into Satomobiles of their own. Said brows raised in alarm. They were not out of the woods yet.

"Looks like we've got company." Mako muttered.

His brother glanced quickly into the rear-view mirror. "Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me! Hold on!" The stocky green-eyed man jerked the wheel sideways, turning in onto another street. Horns blared shrilly, mixing with angry outcries.

Twisted backwards in her seat, the Avatar winced at the sound of metal smashing against metal. "That didn't look so good," she commented squeakily.

"Better them than us," Mako reasoned. He watched through the mirror as four other vehicles turned the corner, passing by the crash site. His nerves began to fray a little more as the approaching Satomobiles crept closer. "Bolin . . ." he warned.

"Yeah, yeah." Bolin scoffed. "They're not getting anywhere near us. Don't worry Mako, I happen to be an excellent driver–"

His overconfident remark was stifled by the sound of a rumbling motorcycle that tore its way through a nearby alley. Off to their side, a miniature wooden gate was blown to smithereens from the force of its entrance, tossing up flecks of debris into the air. The driver of the vehicle pulled up on the passenger's side of the trio's Satomobile, keeping pace with Bolin's startled swerving. His face was covered with green goggles and a tight fitting mask. Attached on his back rested what seemed like a whirling, clicking backpack. _Almost like . . ._

Mako felt his eyes widen in recognition.

Nearly seventy-five years ago, on the inception of Republic City itself, a large machine was built deep beneath the surface of its newly cultivated lands. The machine had been issued by a young inventor and scientist who had adamantly argued that such a device would be the very foundation and backbone of the newly sprouting city; he had said that it would be able to power more than ten hundred thousand homes and nourish each and every one with an unending supply of energy. The man had created a generator.

Having seen the fabled invention once before when he was younger, Mako could only stare awestruck at the rider situated on the motorbike. Strapped to his back beneath all the coils and metal, was a smaller version of the generator.

The motorcyclist raised a gloved hand, glowing with an eerie blue-white sheen. Electricity thrummed in the gauntlet, poised to deliver.

Bolin twisted the wheel harshly, jerking to the side of another road, and a wall of houses sprung up between them and the lightning-wielding rider. Mako felt a breath of air he hadn't know he'd been holding escape him. He glanced backwards to look at the rest of their chasing entourage.

Off in the distance, the four other Satomobiles crashed unexpectedly, flying through the air as haphazard ramps of earth sprouted upwards at random.

The firebender turned towards his brother. "How did you–"

Bolin shook his head, both hands still firmly gripped on the wheel. "Wasn't me."

He turned his head to the backseat. Korra gave him a small wave, a fluttering of her fingers more than anything. "Hi there, hot stuff."

"H-hey . . ." he stuttered, somewhere between surprise at her choice of words and wonderment at how she had stayed calm enough to think about attacking with her own bending. He slowly returned his gaze to the road, away from the smirking Avatar and her insufferable madness that caused his mind to go blank.

"This girl," he said to no one in particular, "is crazy."

"This girl can hear you, you know," Korra chirped.

Mako remained silent.

Bolin turned on another street, and the watery view of Republic City's bay, complete with an elongated bascule bridge that connected it to Air Temple Island, appeared almost magically.

For a moment, Mako felt as though everything suddenly seemed peaceful and tranquil. Just the sight of such placidity seemed to rub off on him.

Such feelings were dashed away when lightning shrieked a few feet ahead of them, rendering an entire store-front into nothing more than soot and sparks.

The rider they eluded earlier appeared from out of another alleyway, one hand encased in icy blue matter. Mako swore he saw the man grinning from beneath his green goggles.

This time the firebender was ready though. He unrolled the window and punched a short fireball at the motorcyclist trying to intercept them. The blast forced the rider to duck his head down, sparing Mako a chance to look back out at the bay.

A large steam-ship chugged its way through the calm blue waters, as charcoal fumes spewed out from an array of its smokestacks; the onyx-hued steam slipped away in the sun-kissed air, drifting towards the tips of the twin towers that marked Republic City's legendary bridge. As the liner charted a course closer to the bridge, the firebender suddenly had an idea.

"Bolin, head towards Air Temple Island." He said.

"What! Why? We'll be sitting turtle ducks once we pass the bridge!"

"Just trust me, okay?"

"But–"

It seemed Korra understood his motives. "Do it, Bolin!"

"If you guys say so . . ." the earthbender sighed, punching the gas and gripping the wheel firmly.

They took a shallow bend in the road at high speeds, exceeding the posted limit and weaving through the semi-congested traffic. Another quick look back though, and Mako saw that the lightning wielder was gaining on them.

Electrical energy zapped viciously through the air.

Satomobiles zipped by in a blur, mingling with the hues of other vehicles. Colors seemed to chase one another in an unending strip, like a belt of lights and flames. _Red, White, Green, Violet, Yellow, Orange, Blue: the colors of Dragon's Fire. _Mako started at the random thought that bubbled up in his head. He had never seen Dragon's Fire before. How should he know what it looked like?

_His eyes became riveted to the flickering whirlwind of the inferno, of the roaring thrum of wind in his ears and the vibrations of beating drums that sent tremors to his feet. Crisp and salted air burned in his lungs. It was cold; so very, very cold. But in this pocket, in this encasement of shimmering conflagration, warmth seeped into his bones._

_A giddy sense of exhilaration overcame him then, nourishing him with knowledge and understanding of Fire, of ancient and archaic forms. It bespoke of tales that were learnt from claw and fang and mind; of passion and control. So different from the rigid and angry techniques that he was trained with._

_The column of iridescent heat swirled lazily around in an eddy of other-worldliness. The blaze seemed surreal, almost as if it was nothing more than a warm embracement; it was full of tranquility and peace. He could see the grace and beauty of how this fire lay, limitless in its possibilities. There was no structure to its form, only that of which it was made up of. It was light. It was fire. It was life. _

_Tender flames whispered across his fingertips like a breeze. Looking skyward in awe and wonder, he raised a hand and reached out to touch it. _

"Mako . . . Mako, Hey! Mako! Are you even listening to me?" an urgent voice broke him out of his vivid memory.

Mako squinted his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the fog that now roamed his mind in place of the quickly vanishing . . . memory? Disorientated, the firebender let go of his nose and scrubbed at his face with the back of his wrist.

"I- I don't know what happened. All these colors and Dragon's Fire . . . it felt so real," he mumbled.

"Hello? You need to snap out of it man!" Bolin was switching looks between him and Korra and the bridge; the raising roadside portion of it, Mako noted dimly.

Suddenly, everything cleared as the firebender regained his senses and the grey fog dispersed altogether, like it was never there. In that moment he noticed the parting folds of the bridge preparing to open up into two. He'd have time to deal with the illusion later, Mako decided.

"Okay, okay– alright. We're gonna have to jump the bridge. Korra and I will try to blow Sparky over there," Mako jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the rider, "out of his seat when he tries to leap after us. Hopefully–"

"That's your plan?" The Avatar yelped from the backseat.

He turned around to glare. "It is a good plan. It'll work."

"No, it won't. What's stopping him from shooting lighting at us while we're in the middle of the air? What if we can't even make it to the other side!"

"I don't see you coming up with any other ideas. Why did you agree with me and tell Bolin to go this way if all you're going to do is argue?"

"Uh, maybe because I thought that you actually knew what you were doing!"

Bolin fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as they began speeding down the strip that led towards the raising bridge-face. It seemed like it was deserted, all the prior cars having stopped near the edge of the conduit. "Guys . . ."

The two benders ignored the green-eyed man driving them and continued with their bickering.

"You– you are a real piece of work, Avatar Korra! Agni, don't fight me on this! _If_ we do this then we won't have to worry about him or any other spirit forsaken hoodlum or anti-bender or electric throwing psychopath from tailing us. _If_ we do this, we can backtrack into–"

"Into the city, where they'll be more of those crazy people to chase us?" Korra finished. "I don't think so. There's a place over at the temple where we can stay, which is much safer than what you are suggesting."

"Guys . . ." Bolin groaned.

"And now you're fighting me over where to go– ugh! They'll corner us!"

"They won't expect us to even be there! If anything, they'd think we would go –as you put it, back into the city to lose them."

Mako faltered in his tirade, seeing the logical reasoning in his new companion's alternate plan. Still, he was the one calling the shots; not some fiery waterbender who was as stiff and unyielding as earth. He opened his mouth, a ready retort forthcoming.

"GUYS WILL YOU PAY A-FUCKING-TTENTION!" Bolin bellowed hysterically, keeping a death grip on the steering wheel.

Both parties involved snapped their gazes toward the large, angled ramp of pavement in front of them.

"Oh Shit, The Bridge!" Mako shouted along the same time Korra started to scream shrilly. The firebender had just enough time to feel the upward ascension of their vehicle lurch its way to the edge, before nothing was beneath of the Satomobile; nothing but a dismal, watery drop of certain death.

This lucid and deprecating fact didn't stall him though. Mako stuck his head out of the window, toes trying to ground themselves into something, _anything_. His arms were cocked, the edges of his knuckles brushing against his cheek bones. He felt the downwards pull of gravity grip the Satomobile queasily.

The roar of a flying motorcycle went unheard, quieted by the pure intensity of his focus. It launched itself from the end of the bridge, hurling through the air like a mechanical spear bent on destruction. The rider's green goggles glinted with derision.

Mako managed to throw a short jab lanced with fire, followed up by a straight right cross. He watched as the two bursts of flames flashed through the air. He watched as they struck the man in his chest, separating rider from vehicle.

Then they were crashing, falling, hammering to the ground. Mako felt the first jolts of tires hitting pavement as he scrambled to throw his body back into the safety of the Satomobile. He managed to force two-thirds of himself inside before an especially jarring bump took control of the vehicle. The firebender knocked his head into the metal edge of the roof and sparks of varying colors flitted across his vision. Shouts and worried cries reached his muffled hearing. His eyes began to roll back into his head.

He wondered briefly about dancing dragons.

And then blackness took him.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"I think he's coming around," a hushed voice said. It sounded like his brother.

"Okay, I'll go grab him something to eat and drink. Maybe some congee with lychee juice?"

"That sounds great. Thank you Korra. For everything."

"I wish I could do more . . ."

Footsteps shuffled away.

Mako groaned quietly and attempted to sit himself up. Thick hands pushed him gently back down into a cot. The firebender opened his eyes to glare candidly at the suppressor.

Bolin was shaking his head. "You need to lie down bro. If that knock to your head hurts anything like it sounded, I'd be surprised if you didn't rattle your entire brain."

. . .

"My skull feels like someone grabbed a crowbar and had at it," Mako admitted, after a moment. He looked lazily around him, noticing the change in scenery. It appeared as if they were in a small bunker or basement. "This is twice now I've woken up someplace different than before. How long have I been out?"

"Uh, like . . ." Bolin counted on his fingers quickly, "Three days. We're actually underneath the Air Temple. Korra's airbending master said it'd be okay, given the circumstances."

He mulled this over in his head silently. Then, gaining his courage, he asked, "And how long was I originally out for . . . before you met Korra?"

His brother tensed, shoulders going rigid and fists clenching towards his sides. Mako noticed how his brother's jaw clenched. _It was so unlike Bolin to be so angry, he _thought._ What happened?_

"The anti-benders; th– they . . . they call themselves The Equalists, you know. I hate them so much. I really, truly do." He was avoiding the question.

"How long, Bolin?" Mako urged.

"Three weeks, Mako." He gritted out through tightened lips and snarled teeth, "they had you in their little testing lab for three weeks! And I didn't do a thing!"

"Bro, I don't think you could've done a thing. Don't beat yourself up over it," he reasoned. Internally though, Mako was shaking. That meant that his little brother had been alone for nearly a month, living on the streets, fending for himself. He thanked Agni for sending Korra their way.

"But–"

"Don't worry. I'm fine and you're fine. That's all that matters."

It seemed though that his comment had caused Bolin to think about the situation differently. His face wasn't scowling no more.

"I guess . . . I guess you're right. I just wish I could've done something."

"'Course I'm right," Mako said. "And again, quit harping on yourself about it. We barely made it out this time, and we had the Ava– we had Korra with us. That's saying something. Besides, everyone knows I'm the better bender out of us. You're just a pathetic pebble-thrower." He teased.

An amicable conversation sprouted back up then, and Mako nearly sighed with relief in reviving his brother's lost happy-go-lucky –and maybe a bit big-headed, but hey, he learned it from him!– personality. They talked about pro-bending; about how they had been so close to winning and getting into the tournament last year. They talked about superficial things.

And then after ten minutes or so, Bolin bid goodnight to him, stating that it was late and he didn't want to keep him up.

The firebender acquiesced easily enough. He was tired. And hungry . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

The door to his room opened up, and a small candlelight came into view. Carrying what looked like a late dinner on a metal tray, Korra crept into his room quietly.

"Hey," she greeted, seeing him sitting with his back against the wall.

"Hey," he replied.

She handed him his food and set the candle on one of the chests near the cot. She stood there awkwardly. Taking the food graciously, Mako resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the candle. They weren't living in ancient times, for spirit's sake!

With a flick of his finger, he snapped a switch nearby him to 'on'.

Mako raised one of his eyebrows at her as a dim light bulb illuminated the room slightly better. Her lips traced the outlines of a sheepish 'oh'.

He began eating silently. When he offered her a bite of congee, she merely shook her head and told him to eat it; he needed it more anyways. He complied. _Fair enough_.

Watching her fidget with one strand of hair dangling across the side of her cheek, Mako could practically feel the tension in the air. Why it was there, he was pretty sure he knew. He hadn't asked her all that he wanted to know yet, and judging from her body language, she knew that he was preparing to so. Still, he offered a means to ease the apprehension by scooting himself over onto the cot and beckoning her over to sit by him. It might make things a bit easier if they were in a more companionable position compared to an I-just-met-you-and-this-is-awkward situation.

She sidled over and rested her head against the wall next to him. By then, he had finished his meal and had set the tray on the small wooden chest. He cleared his throat.

"So," he began.

"So," she repeated.

"You said earlier, when we met, that you could fill me in about some stuff; about these questions I have." He almost winced at how obtuse he sounded.

"I did." She agreed.

"I'd like to know more about . . . about whatever the heck is happening to me. You can explain what's going on, right?"

Korra nodded slowly, "I am pretty certain I can."

"Alright, good." He said. A pause. Then: "What is an 'Animus'?"

She was playing with her hair again. "It's sort of a long story, but . . . it was invented by this one scientist from my tribe not too long ago; I'd say maybe ten or fifteen years at most. He was old and eccentric from what most people tell me, but he was also a genius at what he did.

The Animus was _supposed_ to be used only by me, once everyone realized that I was the new Avatar. It was basically _supposed_ to, in all coils and wires aside, be a spiritual-enhancer. Something to help bridge the gap between the Spirit World and this one. It was supposed to help. But something went wrong."

Mako remained impassive, studying her serious ocean-blue eyes. They seemed hazed, as if in a trance. He listened with rapt attention as she continued.

"According to the journal entries from the scientist, there was a variable that he neglected. He had created the Animus to bring me, and later Avatar's closer to the Spirit World on this one, really complex formula. It was based on finding one's true spiritual energy; it's like someone's complete being. He created it that way, so that those who were descendants or even reincarnations –as in my case, could then situate ourselves into the Animus and converse with our prior life. That was the plan.

But like I said, he mixed something up. And instead of relying on spiritual energy, the Animus began to operate on this thing called DNA. I guess, in simpler terms, that stuff could be called blood relations, or people who are descended from their ancestor through blood. But it was that hiccup in the machine that made it force those who were placed in the Animus to undergo memories of whoever they were trying to reach. They did lots of tests to find the problem and subjects were numerated . . . Then, the testing began.

It took the scientist nearly five years to figure out the problem, but by then, he had passed away before he could patch it up. His notes were left but no one could decipher them, and no one has deciphered them till this day. The Animus was deemed a failure, and they were all supposed to be destroyed. But . . ."

Korra fell silent.

"But?" Mako prodded.

"But they weren't. And that's not even the worst part. You see, all those subjects who were tested on, they started to suffer from all the memories they went through. Granted, many of them inherited some of their ancestor's powers and skills, but at a cost. They began to have illusions, and they started to believe that they were someone else in a different world. All of them went insane. And now the Equalists have a handful of them and are trying to crack the scientist's codes for their own devices. Things could take a very, very bad turn if they do what I think they're trying to do."

Mako mulled this over in his head. He had already had one of such illusions. He mentally swore. Cautiously, he spoke up.

"And what is it that you think that they're planning?"

Her voice was solemn. "Exactly what they've been attempting to do all along. They're going to try and take away bending. Permanently."

. . .

. . .

. . .

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Ahh . . . I did say I'd try to throw twists in here, right? How many of you were expecting that!

Haha, so this is basically my representation of creating a somewhat canon, but mostly AU story. Watching the first two episodes of: The Legend of Korra gave me inspiration for this. Oh and Assassin's Creed, definitely *rolls eyes*.

I apologize for the lateness. I really do. However, I hope I made it up with this chapter (which is over 6k words long! my largest by far!). I am definitely loving writing this, and I hope you guys are enjoying it as much as me.

R&R


	4. Awaken the Spirit

**Disclaimer: **I hold no ties with Avatar: The Last Airbender. This work of fiction was created for, and only for, the sole purpose of entertainment. No profits were obtained from the makings of this story. Credits go out to Nickelodeon, Michael DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko respectively.

. . .

. . .

**Summary: **A struggling prince tries to maintain order. Torn between civil war and personal resentment, Zuko attempts to lead a revolution against those that betrayed his people. Along the way, a life-changing meeting with a water healer sets him on his destiny.

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**Attention: **I received a couple of reviews; critical and honest reviews, regarding the Mako and Korra ship. To those of you wondering, this story is not going to be based off of Mako and Korra; it is a ZUTARA fic. You can treat the prior as a sub-plot perhaps. There will be other sides to the story, but Katara/Zuko are going to be the main characters. Do not despair!

I do appreciate the reviews, however. Constructive criticism is what I honestly prefer over praise.

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"If you had one shot, or one opportunity . . . to seize everything you ever wanted . . . In one moment. Would you capture it? Or just let it slip?"  
>~Eminem, Lose Yourself<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter III– Awaken the Spirit<strong>

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><p><strong>170ASC, Republic City: Air Temple Island<strong>

He felt himself freeze then, stiff as a board. _Take away bending? _he thought, _How! Why? The bastards– the fucking insane, evil, conniving little sneaks. Let them try, just let them! I swear . . . _

Korra was talking again, and he forced himself to reign in his anger and fear. On the outside, Mako appeared calm and collected, showing no signs of how rampant the thoughts in his head ran. Internally, it felt as if someone had just dropped a rock into his stomach. He shivered.

"–and that's why they most likely took you as one of their experiments, you being a bender and all." The girl paused, eyes wide with concern. "Mako . . . are you okay?" she asked.

"I . . . I– think I'll be alright." He croaked. "It's just that, how . . . how could they do such a thing?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "All I do know is that the White Lotus has been trying to stop them for a long, long time now . . . without a whole lot of success, either. I hear some of the elder council members say that it's only a matter of time before they figure out how the codex pages of the scientist can be changed."

The underlying tone was there in her voice: _There's nothing else we can do._

His body tensed then and an anxious silence settled down between them. Mako could feel the mutual repulsiveness coat the air, staining it a bitter and twisted essence. It felt hard to merely breathe in its poisonous ardor. He felt weak and afraid. Like all the hope had been sucked out of him.

It felt like the first time he had realized he was an orphan.

The scene itself had been easy enough to decipher. A bar, some broken remnants of wood and liquor glasses, and a cold, dead body sprawled on the floor. That was the last glimpse Mako had seen of his father; his mother had already passed away when both he and Bolin were younger.

Something hardened inside of him then. _Never give up without a fight . . . _the mantra thrummed internally. Figments of shadowed reality blurred through Mako's vision, and a flicker of a memory caught steady. His mind felt as if it had suddenly been zapped with another stranger's life.

_He was in the woods, breathing heavily. It seemed he had lost them; the earthbenders, the traitors, the ones who had slaughtered his homeland. Agni had spared him this petty dignity, complete without an audience. Now was time for the irrevocable act of rebellion against his people. Now was the time for him to do the necessary and the painfully belittling ritual to strip himself of all traditions. He was doing it for the best interests of everyone, but that did nothing to dampen the bitter humiliation. _

_The sharp edge of a silver knife shore through his topknot and a feeling of clarity conceded itself within him. Silky strands of hair parted through young callused hands, floating down into a gurgling stream, down and out of his sight of view. It was almost therapeutic; the sense of finally reaching a decision chosen, not forced upon him, bolstered his flagging strength. _

_Tawny eyes flecked with unshed tears beheld the engravings on the knife, burying its words deep into the recesses of the firebender's mind. _

'_Never give up without a fight'_

_Banished he may have been, but finished he most certainly was not. Even at the age of only ten-and-thirteen, he knew there were things to be done. For staring at him, through the gleam of the blade, was the reflection of a newly healing scar. It reminded him of who he was and what he had to do. Giving up was never an option. Not now, not ever._

_The sound of heavy footsteps down the trail behind him awoke an internal sensation of primitive and animalistic instincts. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and in a flash, he was out of the open and scampering deeper into the heavy foliage._

The remnant faded away and Mako blinked rapidly a few times. Gone was the wooded land and stream; he was back inside the Air Temple bunker. Korra was looking at him strangely.

Mako cleared his throat. "These uh, White Lotus people . . . are they somewhere close by? Is there any way we could reach them quickly?" he asked carefully, shaking away the strange and ghostly tingle at the back of his head.

"There are actually a few here at the temple. Tenzin –that's my new airbending instructor, is one of the members on the council," Korra said. She frowned slightly. "Why?"

Mako looked at her, "There's something I want to . . . discuss with them."

The young Avatar tilted her head ever-so-slightly, brows furrowed in the beginnings of a question. Through the dim light, he could make out the athletic frame of his new and tentative ally. Her toned muscles contrasted with the faint signs of softness that caressed the edges of her face. Gentle, delicately angled and feminine.

Mako's obscure comment and façade turned thoughtful, as he subtly took in the features of the girl sitting beside him. His relaxed posture must have appeased her, as she simply nodded and stood up to her feet.

"I think that I could get an appointment settled for you." She paused, sliding a stray strand of brown hair back behind her ear, "but not tonight. Rest, and in the morning you can talk with Tenzin."

Their eyes met one another's. Looking more accurately now, the firebender could make out emerald flecks of green within Korra's irises. They were iridescent in color, almost green, almost blue; a blue-green. They stood out prominently against the tan shade of her skin, bright and inquisitive and yearning. And even though Mako still had questions lingering on his tongue, he swallowed them and nodded in acquiescence.

"Alright. That sounds like a plan," he murmured.

Korra smiled softly. "Okay then. I guess I'll see you in the morning."

With that the female Avatar departed from the humble little room, bidding him a good night and leaving Mako alone to dwell on his many unanswered questions. Questions of his lapses in veracity, of his visions of a man hidden beneath a blue mask; hidden even further by the large scar obscuring his face. Questions of dancing dragons and shimmering flames, of anti-benders and many others beside. Questions, questions, questions!

The White Lotus would hopefully be able to decipher them, he cogitated. That or the life Mako knew would cease to exist.

As he flicked the light back off, resting his head against the pliable cushion of a pillow, the firebender failed to realize that his world had changed ever since he had fell prey into the shifting reality of the Animus.

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The next day came around, fruitful with the scents of a summer's morning. Sea gulls cawed archly and the quiet rasp of waves crashed against the island. Mako woke to the sound a sharp tapping against his door.

Korra peeked inside.

"We really need to leave . . . like now," she said.

The groggy firebender blinked the sleep from out of his eyes and half-chuckled at the irony of how their second morning meeting –of when he was awake at least– started. It was almost precisely like the first; minus the worry and agitation and confusion and . . .

"Morning' to you to," Mako said, derailing his roaming thoughts. He watched quietly as Korra smiled happily. She shook her head.

"Seriously Mako, Tenzin is a bit of a stickler when it comes to being tardy. Trust me, I would know. He's one of those hardcore traditionalists. All punctual and uptight and everything."

"Oh . . . I guess we should probably be off then."

"Good guess, hot stuff."

Again with that nickname. The firebender shook it off, lithely getting out of his bed and fixing the wrinkles in his clothes. He raised an eyebrow over at Korra as if to ask her: '_Are you ready?'_

Without another word, she turned out of the doorway and began to walk away. Mako trailed briskly behind her, his long legs eating up the distance almost lazily.

They passed by a number of similar looking bunkers and doors, before ascending to the ground floor and walking out of the temple. Had he been more attentive, Mako might have admired the old beauty of the place, filled with air nomad depictions and paintings. Instead, he simply followed the trim and agile Avatar, watching the slight swish of her hips as she stepped.

They traveled by a number of blue cloaked guards who all seemed huddled together in differing groups, their eyes following both of them carefully. Mako and Korra walked along a cobblestone trail to another sector of the island. They passed the main road that led out of Air Temple Island, and Mako squinted to see a commotion on the bridge –the one, he noted, that they had jumped a few days earlier– and saw what appeared to be construction vehicles. It looked like the bridge would be closed for a while . . . _oops. _

Soon the trail ended and the two benders were walking into another temple. It was a spindly tower more than anything. Quickly, they took a spiraling staircase all the way to the top. The twirling and spinning staircase definitely bespoke of the Air Nomad's style of bending; avoidance and circles. Lots of them. It made Mako a bit sick just thinking about how many times the stairs seemed to twist.

When they reached the end of the steps, barred entrance by thick oak doors Korra turned to face him. "Ready?" she asked.

He nodded.

And without preamble, Korra pushed open the doors.

A tall man, who even seemed to tower over Mako, looked at them with calm grey eyes. Blue arrowed tattoos stood out on his alabaster skin, stretching from his bald head and at his hands. A pointed beard made his features seem even sharper than the arrows tattooed on him. He spoke grandly, his voice sonorous and rich.

"Ah, so you must be the one caught in the meddling of my pupil. Mako is your name, isn't it? Come, come, take a seat. There are many things we need to discuss."

Mute as ever, Mako took a seat on one of the proffered cushions given to him. There was a slightly raised table in front of the firebender. Scrolls lay sprawled out across it. Korra took a seat next to him while the tall monk walked past them both, taking a cushion at the head of the table. The man –Tenzin–Mako reminded himself, looked at him expectantly.

"Korra tells me you wished to ask a few . . . questions," he began.

Mako dipped his head slightly in confirmation.

"I think . . . no, I am pretty sure that I can answer some of them. If they are about what I suspect, that is. But for the rest, you should be able to answer them for yourself." He was floating off in an indirect direction, so like his element. The master airbender paused, pulling at his beard. "I have a question for you, actually. Tell me Mako, what do these scrolls say?" Tenzin gestured to the many parchments that lay in front of him.

Mako's eyes darted down to said scrolls. It looked like they were written in gibberish. "I don't know," he answered.

"These scrolls," Tenzin said, "are written in old Fire Nation scripture. They tell the life and death of perhaps one of the most famous firebenders in the whole of history. What you are looking at right now, is a piece of the ancient past."

"Oh . . ." Mako blinked. From the corners of his eyes, he could see Korra doing much the same.

"Korra said that you understand the situation the White Lotus finds itself in," Tenzin continued, changing the subject. "That we are steadily watching the Equalist party rise to power here in Republic City. And how they are trying to find a way to prevent bending indefinitely through the use of the Animus. Some inside sources say they test their subjects voraciously and force them to undergo what one could be considered a 'Spiritual Awakening' of sorts. Once someone enters inside of the Animus, they bear the full brunt of their ancestor's life and are eventually consumed . . . mentally of course. It is rare to hear of anyone leave the Animus unaffected."

The monk paused, seeming lost in thought. "This you have experienced firsthand." He said. "Granted, it was not nearly as strenuous or long as the average subject is supposedly induced to. But nonetheless it is indeed remarkable. And you seem to be mentally stable; another feat not many are able to boast about."

Scattered and vivid images that were of things he had never seen popped up inside of Mako's head, reminding him of his momentary lapses. "I've been having visions though," he blurted.

Tenzin's eyes lost their soft and airy look. Sharp and grey, like liquid pools of silver, they zeroed in on Korra. "You never said anything about this," he snapped.

"Don't look at me! This is new information to me too!" Korra snarked back. She glared at her mentor.

Tenzin standoffishly returned her glower with equal fervor.

. . .

The stare down continued, smoldering with challenge. One could hear a pin drop in the room. Mako twitched uneasily in his seat.

"Is this . . . bad?" He asked uncertainly, trying to break the silence.

A breath of uneasy air seemed to exhale in the room. "It complicates matters," Tenzin admitted slowly. "Though I do suppose it should have been expected."

"What do you mean?" The firebender said.

"It means you're suffering from the Bleeding Effect," Korra said grudgingly. "It's one of the first signs of mental instability. The Bleeding Effect is caused by prolonged exposure in the Animus. If you stay in it too long–"

"– you lose sense of reality and can no longer distinguish things that are, and things that once were," The monk finished. "In many cases it leads to insanity, madness, and eventually, death. It can be prevented, however, if you stay out of the Animus long enough and if you take the necessary safety precautions. Usually the effects will wear off in time."

Mako shuddered imperceptibly. _What a horrible way to die, _he thought. _Lost in a world that isn't yours. Without even realizing it . . . _Though this revelation troubled him, Mako's mind jumped back to what Tenzin had admitted before Korra's explanation. Suspicion crawled into his face, eliciting a frown on his features.

"How would this complicate matters then?" he demanded. "I don't plan on returning into that thing anytime soon, so I should be good then, right? . . . right?"

Tenzin didn't reply. And it was in this noncompliance, etched with the monk's stony and reserved countenance, that made Mako see an ulterior motive lingering beneath the surface. Korra said she had saved him, seemingly out of her self-duty to the world. Because she was the Avatar. He had bought it at first, had taken her words at face value. But now Mako understood. It had been a set up, a farce and faked friendship. It was to lure him into a sense of false security, before slamming him back into that stupid machine to get more information out of him. Granted, they were being amicable with him and their motives seemed to be different than the Equalists' . . . but it still meant they were no better than the ones who had tested on him before. They were using him.

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping angrily with an effort to stay under control.

"I am going back in then." It was a statement of cold, hard truth. There was no questioning in it. Mako scowled, standing up rebelliously from his seat. "Well you can forget it, I'm not doing it. I don't need your help to solve this. In fact, Bolin and I are leaving RIGHT now." He turned to walk out of the doors.

"It's not what you think–" Korra started.

"Save it for someone who cares," he snarled.

"Quit being such a jerk!"

He ignored her. Just as his outstretched hand was about to make contact with the door handle, Tenzin's booming voice stopped him cold.

"Don't you think it's strange," he said, voice heavy with stiff certainty, "that I have yet to call the guards to prevent you from leaving? Why, I don't think you'd be able to make it down this tower if I wanted to keep you here."

Mako froze and lowered his hand, still staring at the door. The old monk did have a point . . .

"Don't you think it's strange," said Tenzin, "that I have placed rare and valuable scrolls, ones that are nearly a century old, down on this table? To convince some mere stranger about entering the Animus, to pique his interest so he chooses of his own free will. There are men that would kill for these relics, yet you have no inclination to hear me out?"

Tenzin's questioning tone shifted into a sterner command. "Boy, if I had wanted to force you into the Animus, I would have done so without the need for civility. Sit. Down."

Mako returned to his cushion, brooding silently. He looked downwards in shame at his rash decision. From his bowed position, he saw Korra with a look of pitying comfort on her face. She obviously had been chewed out and had sense thwacked into her like this before.

" Read the title of the first scroll," Tenzin commanded.

" I can't do–" Mako began.

"Read. It. The Bleeding Effect transmits your ancestor's past learnings to you through your subconscious. Read it. Focus. Concentrate. Now read."

Mako stared grimly at the slanted glyphs. A minute passed by with nothing. Then two.

_Read! _his mind shouted.

And suddenly, he could read. The ancient fire script danced into focus, blazing with old history and understanding. Letters swirled into words, and words into a title. Mako could understand.

_Volume I_–_History of a Forgotten Prince: The Fire War Renaissance_

_~Professor Zei, Head of Anthropology_

He mouthed the words quietly. The firebender lifted his head to stare questioningly at Tenzin.

"But what does this mean? How does this help me understand what these visions are?" he asked.

"It should be obvious," Tenzin said. "Your ancestor whose memories you've accessed is none other than your great, great grandfather. You are the descendant of Zuko himself."

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It had been three hours since the incident and the shock had yet to wear off. From a boy with nothing safe for his wits, who was forced to raise himself and a sibling on the streets, to a young man with a royal lineage . . . the mere thought boggled his mind. That meant HE was quite closely related to the reigning Fire Lord, one of the most powerful firebenders in the world today.

After their meeting, Mako agreed to enter the Animus, regardless of the potential dangers. A boyish sense of curiosity seemed to have grabbed hold of him. A treacherous one. The scrolls were only simple figments and pieces of his heritage. They had delved into the wider span of Fire Nation history, not the legacy, not the person; not Zuko.

The Animus would allow him to relive his great, great, grandfather's lifetime. Something like madness burned in his eyes. He could finally understand the distorted images in his mind.

As the slightly stabbing injection of sleeping serum wormed its way through his body, Mako's eyes dipped lower, bright and golden irises surrendering themselves to an opportunity of which only destiny could capture. The thrums and clicks of the Animus –an older model compared to the higher-tech metal bed from the Equalist's hideout– faded into obscurity.

Soon, Mako was asleep.

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"Do you think he'd understand?" Korra asked.

Tenzin was pensive. "Understand what, dear?"

"Why the Equalists want him."

"No . . . No, I do not think he would understand. That boy is to sharp for his own good. The ploy just about fell apart when he put two-and-two together. I was sure he would call us out. I saw it in his eyes."

"Why– why didn't he?"

"He likes you, pupil Korra. That's why. He respects and trusts you. You've barely met him, and he already believes in you."

A slight blush. And then: "I . . . I feel like I betrayed him. Like I betrayed his trust."

"It is better this way. He and his brother will be safe."

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Somewhere in the small hideaway of a simple and blank apartment, a man wearing an unfathomable white mask began to chuckle darkly.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>End Republic City scene now! Originally, I was going to draw this out a bit more and get more character development going but . . . plans change. I'll be adding dates to the story (ex: 94 ASC) *ASC –After Sozin's Comet– to help with the confusion of time switches/changes.

This chapter felt rushed to me . . . *runs palm down face*. Ah. Anyways, hope you guys are liking it so far. Feel free to PM me about questions or concerns or ideas.

As to reviews, if you review, expect me to respond as quickly as possible. Given my hectic life, that may or may not be very fast. But . . . I do try to get to know my readers better through PMing; your likes/dislikes, things that interest you, et cetera. It helps with the flow of things. And it gives me INSPIRATION :D something I need. A lot.

I'd like to happily inform you that the transition back into the Animus shall also take us back to Zuko and Katara . . . *shrugs*. See, these two chappies of Mako & Korra weren't THAT bad . . . right?

Special thanks to all of those who reviewed last chapter(s). I appreciate them all. As to my anonymous reviewers –especially those who I can't stalk/track down by typing in your name in the search bar: leave me something to contact you with! I'd like to personally thank you in a personal/private message.

Thanks guys, and I'll be seeing you in Chapter IV :)


	5. Alliance

**Disclaimer: **I hold no ties with Avatar: The Last Airbender. This work of fiction was created for, and only for, the sole purpose of entertainment. No profits were obtained from the makings of this story. Credits go out to Nickelodeon, Michael DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko respectively.

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**Summary: **A struggling prince tries to maintain order. Torn between civil war and personal resentment, Zuko attempts to lead a revolution against those that betrayed his people. Along the way, a life-changing meeting with a water healer sets him on his destiny.

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**Author's Note: **This Chapter is dedicated to Mr. Austin Mandouka, AKA "The White Ninja". Austin recently moved to Utah, leaving me to mope about losing one of my best friends. This one's for you buddy!

I would also like to apologize for the extremely long wait in posting this. Personal issues arose and I wasn't feeling the vibe for writing. But I'm back! And hopefully, chapters shall be coming up quickly.

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**Alliance**: al-li-ance (n); A union or association formed for mutual benefit.

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><p><strong>Chapter IV–Alliance<strong>

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><p><strong>94 ASC, Fire Nation: Harbor City<strong>

On the second evening since losing consciousness and blacking out, Zuko awoke dazedly. Blearily, the rogue-prince blinked open his eyes. It took him a moment to realize he was lying down on a thin futon mattress, barely elevated off of the floor. Slowly, he lolled his head to the side, his gaze following after, taking in the surroundings of this new place. A woven changing screen depicting orange sunsets and bonsai trees took up a portion of the right side of the room. Simple paintings and sutras scrawled into papyrus scrolls hung neatly and orderly on the walls. To Zuko's right, a small jug and a wooden ladle sat atop one diminutive sized desk; it was more of a nightstand than anything. Paper-thin screen doors separated the antechamber from the remainder of the house, keeping Zuko's gaze from prying further.

The prince groaned; the sound escaping through his dry throat like sandpaper, before rolling from his back onto his right side. Such a slight movement reverberated through his body, on his neck. It felt as if someone had laid a band of hot iron across the spot. He hissed in pain, panting with the effort as sweat prickled at his brow. Zuko's bated breath blocked out the muffled sound of the screen doors splitting and opening, cloaking soft footsteps and swishing blue robes. He attempted to push himself up, going so far as to prop up on an elbow.

A tender, bronze colored hand pushed him gently back down. "Lie down and rest," a feminine voice hushed.

Zuko growled at the perpetrator, feeling too weak to resist the hand pushing him down. He settled with twisting his sight to glare heatedly at the stranger.

His glare was met with a pair of deep, bright blue eyes staring back at him levelly. For a moment, the firebender felt as if he were caught in a rainstorm. Shimmering sapphire irises silenced any other disgruntlements from the prince. Zuko stared, absorbed into those eyes.

"You need your rest," she explained.

Her voice broke him from the spell. Torpidly, he attempted to clear his throat. "W– water," he rasped.

The girl nodded her head once, wavy brown locks bobbing with the motion, before she stood and walked away from Zuko. She grabbed the wooden jug and ladle, returning back to him. The girl knelt on her knees, dipping the spoon into the gourd and gently cupped her free hand behind Zuko's head, helping to bring him closer to the water. "Sip slowly," She advised.

He did. After drinking nearly five spoonfuls, he stopped. The blue-eyed healer set aside the wooden fixtures and sat back on her ankles.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The prince wondered if she was spiting him. Everyone had heard of his banishment in the Fire Nation. One only needed to look at the scar lacerated across the left side of his face to put two-and-two together.

Zuko eyed her suspiciously, noting the healer's seemingly intrigued face. He judged her curiosity as legitimate. Deciding on remaining anonymous with this strange twist of fate, he said, "My name is Li."

She gave him a half smile. "Nice to meet you Li. I'm Katara."

_Katara_. He rolled the name around in his mind. It suited her.

"I found you at the steps, after you, uh . . . knocked on the door," she suddenly began, "it looked like you lost a lot of blood." Her pretty features quirked into a small frown. Katara tilted her head at him inquisitively. "I'd count yourself really lucky you managed to survive as long as you did. Not many people live after getting their jugular vein cut."

Zuko looked toward the ceiling and snorted, "Luck had nothing to do with it."

She studied him silently for a moment, resting on her knees. Her hands smoothed the blues of her robes. "You're right. It was my amazing healing skills that did it." Katara teased lightly. When he didn't so much as chuckle, she continued musingly. "It does beg the question though . . . what did you do to deserve that?"

Seeing no reason in hiding this specific piece of information, the prince said, "I fought a group of Peacekeepers."

Katara's face turned incredulous. "No way," she whispered.

"Mhm," Zuko hummed.

"That was a really, really dumb thing to do. I've only been here for a month or so, but even I know not to mess with those guys." Katara said in a hushed tone. Her nose crinkled as a wide beam spread over her face. "You must be very brave. I guess that makes you a fugitive now, huh?"

"I suppose," he deadpanned. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't turn me in."

She giggled at this. Then, as if a bout of shyness had suddenly taken over her professional facade, she blushed and rubbed one of her wrists uncertainly. "Can . . . can you keep a secret?" she asked.

He was silent for a few heartbeats. "I wouldn't be living still if I couldn't." Zuko replied honestly. As he spoke, the wounded prince shifted his gaze from the ceiling back to her.

This statement seemed to appease her. She took a deep, steadying breath. Twisting around toward the jug of water, Katara's eyebrows knit in concentration as she placed a palm over its rim. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, as she raised her arm upwards, a band of liquid snaked its way in ascension, trailing lazily.

His eyes widened as he watched from his mat. "A waterbender," he breathed.

The water returned to the jug noiselessly. Katara was staring at him meekly. "I'm from the South Pole." She said simply. Then, like a flood bursting through a dam, more words spilled forth, "Me and my family got separated when we were trying to sail to the Western Earth Kingdom. There was this horrible storm that blew us off course and somehow our boat splintered and we got pushed away from one another. I got fished out at this one village . . . uh– I think it was called Shu Jing or something, and the man who found me told me to come here, where it was safer. I think he must've been really powerful and wealthy, because he gave me this huge bag of coins and told me to start up business here in Harbor City and look for a man who played Pai Sho. I think –no, I am pretty sure they must have been partners at some point, because he seemed to understand whatever the heck the lord from Shu Jing gave to me. He was really nice and everything and so very kind, and – and . . ."

She paused, catching her breath, chest heaving after her rapid anecdote. "And that's my recent past in a nutshell." The waterbender concluded.

Zuko was still three explanations behind. His mind was whirling . . . _A . . . waterbender. Here? _his internal psyche mulled. "You're. A. Waterbender." He stated slowly.

Said waterbender smiled weakly, "Yeah . . . I'm still learning though."

Zuko fluttered his eyes closed. This revelation was not a paltry one. It was a miracle she was still in one piece. How in the spirits did she manage to keep her lineage hidden from the Peacekeepers and Fire Nation citizens?

"I can't believe this," he rasped.

Katara looked apprehensive. Zuko was sure she was questioning her own motives about revealing her significant secret. "I just– I thought that since you were fighting them, that . . . that . . . we might have something in common. And we could be allies. We could work together."

He analyzed her with an auric gaze then, taking in her entire form with calculative sweeps of his eyes. His mind spun with possibilities.

She was a waterbender. A pretty, dangerous, unnecessary wild card picked straight from the deck of fate and dropped right into his hands. On one hand, she could be trouble. Zuko could only imagine what would happen if she was discovered . . . or what would happen to him if he was discovered with her. His nation was still full of hostility toward the other benders of the world; couple that with how high tensions were with the death of Fire Lord Ozai and the ever looming presence of Earth Kingdom armies preparing to attack from across the other side of the sea and . . . Zuko could practically feel the noose around his neck.

However, on the flip side, this girl could make a great ally. She had already proved her skill in healing, practically bringing him back from the dead. If an occasion ever arose again where he needed to keep a low profile and be healed at the same time, Katara was a godsend. He wouldn't have to worry about finding an anonymous medic; supposing he did find such a doctor, he still ran the possibility of being turned in. With Katara as a partner, Zuko did not need to ever run that risk.

_Besides_, he thought_, I already have a bounty on my head_. _One more thing won't matter. If I get caught, I'm dead either way; with or without her. _

His mind made up, Zuko allowed something of a smile to spread across his face. "Sure water tribe. Sure."

She grinned back, relieved and happy no doubt to form an alliance. "Wonderful. Now, you need to sleep, Li. I'll be in the other room if you need anything. Just give me a call, okay?" Katara said, standing up and patting away imaginary dust from her robes.

"Will do," Zuko said. He watched the water healer nod her head in a quick bob of wavy brown hair. She exited out of the antechamber and slid the wooden doors slowly together.

Hearing the doors click shut, Zuko sighed a breath that he did not know he had been holding. This meeting with the pretty bender made his head hurt something fierce. The prince wrote it off as to many weighty decisions made much too quickly. With a bit of scuffling, Zuko rolled over onto his side and stared at the orange sunset painted on the changing screen.

He found sleep eluded him thereafter.

. . .

. . .

. . .

It was the sound of an Ostrich horse snuffling that woke him. Always having to look out for danger, to run from it –or on occasion fight it– had made a light sleeper of the prince. Zuko's eyes flickered open like flecks of golden sunshine, bright in the darkness of midnight.

He sighed tiredly.

Through the narrow window above him, pale moonlight lent the prince enough light to see his surroundings. He searched the room silently, cryptically.

Nothing.

Then came the murmurs. At first he almost wrote it off as some stray animal outside, possibly the one that had awoken him; but focusing on it more intensely, Zuko began to pick out pieces of human bickering.

"You take the back room, we'll get the side–"

"No . . . informant said that he's going to be in the antechamber . . . where we need to go."

"How reliable . . . half-blind, crazy old man . . . have my doubts to the prince even being here."

"– the fuck up both of you . . . stay quiet."

He was wide awake now. Quiet and as lithe as a Pygmy puma, Zuko crept off his bedroll and slid the thin paper-like doors wide apart. It led out into a narrow corridor, perhaps two shoulder-lengths wide. With all the silence of the Blue Spirit, Zuko began a half-crouch, half-run. He hugged the edge of the walls, the shadows, keeping his senses on high alert for whoever was trying to break in.

Moving through the house this way, Zuko managed to make it to the back room of Katara's apothecary. It was his best guess as to where she slept.

The sound of a lock being picked made its way to the prince's ears. He groaned inwardly. Time was not his ally.

Slipping open the doors to the back room, Zuko peeked inside.

An assortment of various healing items was stacked neatly in shelves, ranging from books on herbs to bowels filled with powders. A small wooden chest sat in the middle of the room. Other than that, it appeared empty.

It was obviously the water bender's storage area. How unlucky.

Silently cursing, Zuko shut the doors and decided saving the water bender was not worth getting caught. He began to stalk back through the house, looking for a way out. He passed through the kitchen, listening to the almost noiseless sounds of rag covered boots pacing around somewhere near the entrance.

He needed to leave. Now.

Upon turning the corner, a sudden swoosh of air, a sound he recognized as a weapon moving through space, greeted Zuko with vengeful speed. He tried to duck, tried to get out of the way.

He was to slow. The frying pan hit him smack dab on the forehead. A dull thud of metal reverberated in his eardrums, stunning him. Seconds later, it clattered to the wooden floor below as a shocked water bender began apologizing. Much. To. Loudly.

"Li! What are you– oh I'm so sorry! Are you okay? What happened?" Why are you mmmph!"

I t felt like someone just bashed his brains in. Which really wasn't too far from what had happened. Seeing stars, Zuko somehow managed to find Katara and clamp a hand over her mouth. The intruders must have realized that their targets had awoken, as the sounds of hastened footsteps and shouting filled the once eerie silence.

"Sh-h-h. We need to get out of here right now, quickly and quietly. If we don't, we will most likely die." He spoke hoarsely, barely audible. Zuko watched her eyes widen. "Do you understand me?" he whispered.

She nodded.

Zuko removed his hand. "Let's go."

He turned to lead the way, when suddenly, a victorious cry erupted from a scrawny soldier who had appeared almost magically in the room. "It's him! And an accomplice! It's him! Sir, I've found the–"

Katara picked up her dropped pan and threw it at the soldier's head.

Her aim was credited by the telltale '_thonk!' _of iron meeting skull. Zuko cringed at the sound.

More shouts crowed out through the dark lit apothecary. A blast of fire tore through one of the nearby door screens, blazing and roaring with power. Then another razed a wall. The flames caught wood, licking at the timber with a smoky tongue and sending black fumes through the air. Sparks flew wildly.

They ran then. Past their attackers, through the fire, out the front door and into the open night. Yells and curses bit out behind them, hot on their heels. Turning back to the doorway, the prince made a claw-like shape out of his hand and slashed fire at the door, before spinning in a half-circle and sprinting further away from the ambush site. A barrier of heat rose around its edges. He didn't stop to look back. Having memorized the layouts of alleyways and sky-bridges long ago, Zuko foraged ahead. Spotting a route that led out towards the harbor, he sucked in a quick breath. "This way!" he gritted out to Katara.

Zuko ran up a ladder that set him on top of a flat roof. Katara climbed after him, matching his pace. Down below, the group of soldiers began to follow in pursuit. One of them, Zuko noticed, had a bow.

Quickly they began tearing across the rooftops, putting more space between them and the squad of attackers. They had an advantage; unlike their pursuers who were wearing heavily plated armor, Zuko and Katara were lucky enough to be wearing light and simple clothes that promoted a significant speed deficit for the soldiers to overcome.

At least he thought it was lucky until Zuko felt an arrow buzz by his ear. He heard the blue eyed bender squeak out in surprise.

Truth be told, Zuko himself almost squeaked too.

Faster and faster they pushed themselves, pumping their arms and digging in with their toes. The length between both them and the soldiers doubled, tripled, and the next arrow that was shot flew high above their heads.

"We need to reach the docks at the harbor!" Zuko shouted over the side of his shoulder to Katara, loud enough for only her to hear. "I know someone there that can help."

A harrumph of agreement came from the water bender as she hurdled over a chimney. She was keeping up quite well, he noted.

One more arrow sung through the air, flying wide right. The prince felt fairly confident that they were on the home stretch. Perhaps not out of the woods, but definitely out of the dark, dangerous parts.

They made it to the harbor, unscathed.

Zuko jumped down from the roof, tucking into a roll after making contact with the water-logged dock. He then turned back towards said building top, arms outstretched toward the little brunette standing up there. "Jump. I'll catch you," he said. In a way, he was finally getting to enact some of the chivalrous skills he had been taught as a child by his instructors. The whole 'catch-a-girl-on-a-rooftop-so-she-doesn't-hurt-herself' kind of thing.

_Yeah . . . maybe not so much like I was taught_, he thought inwardly.

Katara rolled her eyes and shook her head. Without preamble, she leapt off the top much like the way he had, landed, then tucked and rolled back up to her feet.

Zuko's arms slowly descended back to his sides.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay," she said, smirking.

His lips twitched of their own accord. Either into a smirk or frown, he did not know. "Right. This way, now."

He led the way to a nearby home. It was a larger building, but rife with dilapidation. There was cracks running through the wood and bits of algae growing on it. The place had definitely seen better days. But like most things, it was not what was on the outside that mattered; it was what was within. Zuko knocked twice, paused for a second, and then knocked once more. Katara peered curiously over his shoulder.

The door slowly opened inward. They stepped inside; Zuko boldly, Katara cautiously.

A voice spoke: "I was wondering when you were going to show up. It's been too long. Much too long."

. . .

. . .

. . .

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So I think I'll be capping it off there, sort of as a cliffy, sort of as a transition breaker. Plus, I really wanted to get this out. It has been way to long since I've updated.

So a question to my readers: Who do you think Zuko fled to? The person who guesses this correctly (or the first person if there are multiple) shall get a drabble dedicated to them from me –no spam naming though; only one guess–.

Another thing! I heard that Nickelodeon shall be releasing 26 more episodes for Legend of Korra, on top of the however-many they were going to have for the 2nd season. So . . . more Avatar guys!

I will try to avoid this serious case of writer's block next chapter. If it does hit, expect some "late" Zutara week entries –brought to my attention by **Cashews and Socks**. I'll try my hand at it, I suppose.

Thanks Guys,  
>Eizechial<p> 


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